In late June, my husband came in from taking our dog out and showed me a picture of a baby bird nestled in between some dead vines in our apartment complex’s courtyard.
“Look at what Lola found!” he said while scrolling through the pictures he had taken. “She was sniffing around the vines then jumped back when she saw something move.”
“Should we call animal control?” I asked.
“It had feathers,” Dan said. “I think it’s fine.”
I did not grow up in the presence of many animals. To this day, whenever I see a deer, an animal many consider a common sight and even a nuisance, I loudly screech “deer!” and try to snap a photo. Common wild animals I see every day are birds, squirrels, and rats. The most exotic creature in our neighborhood is a stray cat that continues to evade capture.
All of this to say that when I knew there was a baby bird possibly in need of help, I didn’t dismiss it. Like a good millennial, I took to the internet to see what to do. I knew that sometimes birds fall out of their nests and need help getting back in, but a nature website told me that if it was a fledgling then it was in the process of learning to fly from the ground and should be left alone.
A few hours later, a thunderstorm rolled in. Again, I thought about the bird. When the rain eased up, Dan took Lola out to the courtyard again and reported that the bird was gone. I prayed that it had flown away to seek shelter in a well-covered area.
The next day, when I took Lola out to the courtyard to go to the bathroom, I looked in the vines to see if the bird returned. She wasn’t there. I noticed something out of the corner of my eye that Lola hadn’t yet smelled. Five feet away, the same bird was laying on it’s back, weakly moving its beak and wings. Lola and I ran back to our apartment. I grabbed a bath towel and ran back to the courtyard without a real plan of what to do.
The bird was still on her back, constantly opening and closing her beak, as if trying to call out. I scooped her into the towel that I now realized was ridiculously large for such a small being. A hand towel or even a wash cloth would have been more appropriate. I didn’t realize I was talking out loud to the bird, whispering that it would be okay, until a neighbor stepped out of her apartment a few feet from where I squatted.
“Oh no,” she said cautiously.
“It’s a bird. It’s still a baby.”
“I hope it’s okay! Good luck. Thanks for taking care of it.”
I nodded and hoped that the bird could pull through.
Once wrapped in the towel, I hurriedly shuffled into my apartment, talking to the bird in soothing tones. Lola excitedly greeted me at the door, stuffed toy in mouth, and attempted to engage me in play. Ignoring her, I walked over to the kitchen sink, turned on the faucet, and tried to place some water droplets from my fingers into the bird’s beak. She didn’t respond to the water and closed her eyes. Then, she closed her beak.
I like to think that the baby bird, wrapped in a soft towel, felt safe enough to die. That her body signaled to her that it was time to rest. That she knew she was no longer in danger.
I spent a few moments holding her and petting her feathers. I tried to feel for her heart. I knew she was dead.
Still holding her, I called the DC animal rescue line and pressed 2 for animal rehabilitation. A woman answered and I explained the situation and finally asked, “I’m wondering what is the best way to dispose of the body?” I realized how clinical and cold I sounded, like I suddenly joined the cast of a crime procedural drama.
“Well…” she paused for a long time. It became apparent that she hadn’t answered this question before. “If she was found on public property you can call 311 and request dead animal removal service.”
“Um, she’s in my apartment now.” I was all too familiar with the service she was talking about after submitting several service tickets to get a bloated rat removed from my sidewalk.
“Sorry if this sounds harsh, but you can either wrap the bird up and throw it in your trash or you can bury it.”
I hung up and finally set the bird down on my counter. A brief thought of bird flu spreading in my home passed through my mind as I looked at her resting on the towel. I enveloped her body in the towel and cried.
Lola is not the kind of dog who comforts me when I’m sad. She requires comforting for her own anxiety and has no problem nudging me when she wants attention. But as I sat crying on the floor, she came over to me and licked my face. Maybe she knew I was upset or maybe she likes the taste of salt. Probably the latter.
The internet suggested burying the bird at least three feet below the surface. Armed with a small trowel I use for my indoor plants, I walked around my building to the alley my unit’s window faces. In between my window and the alley is a few feet of mulch. I quickly discovered that my trowel was not made for grave digging, so I dug about a foot down and decided that the bird’s body would probably be safe since there weren’t any wild predatory animals in my neighborhood.
As I covered her body with dirt, I said a prayer for her and apologized that her life had been cut so short. I thought of St. Francis and his recognition that even the smallest creatures are a part of God’s kingdom.
I found a long, brown leaf that reminded me of a palm leaf from Palm Sunday to use as a grave marker. It felt fitting. Eventually the bird would turn back into nourishment for the earth. Ashes to ashes.
Death is sad. It’s sad when someone dies tragically young and it’s sad when someone dies after having lived a long life. I’ve never attended a tearless funeral.
“Because whatever has happened to humanity, whatever is currently happening to humanity, it is happening to all of us. No matter how hidden the cruelty, no matter how far off the screams of pain and terror, we live in one world. We are one people.” -Alice Walker
I recently spent a week on retreat in North Carolina with other diocesan mission directors. In our roles we receive many emails and letters from people around the world asking for help. We do what we can in our limited capacity, but the needs continue to pour in. Witnessing so much injustice wears on me. It can be difficult to stay hopeful knowing that the world is filled with indescribable suffering.
This retreat reminded me that I am an Easter person. I can either be consumed by suffering or I can choose to do more to help end it. Some days I’m consumed, but I try to live in hope. Even when the world is burning, choose hope.
Links To Click On When You’re Bored At Work
Repair your clothes like your future depends on it! (It kind of does.)
I hate Barstool. It’s the spiritual successor to the Chive and no, I won’t elaborate.
Tradwives, capitalism, and conspiracy theories (cw: unhealthy eating ideals/eating disorders)
I’ve been exploring Palestinian embroidery, also known as tatreez, as a way to connect my own embroidery practice with the Palestinian people. This piece helped me understand the importance and history of the tatreez tradition.
Things That Are Bringing Me Joy
It’s been an emotionally difficult time recently. The violence being inflicted upon Palestinian people is too terrible to comprehend. A friend texted me recently, “How well are you sleeping because of Gaza?” and I wanted to respond with the infamous RHONY meme of Dorinda:
That being said, the Free Palestine protest I attended in DC was extremely hope-filled. I marched alongside several hundred thousand people in solidarity with one another and with those struggling for liberation from violent oppression. I believe in my heart that I will see an end to border violence throughout the world in my lifetime. Geez Magazine has a beautiful prayer for Palestine and I hope it brings you some of the peace that it brings me.
Spending time with my siblings.
Surprising someone on their birthday and singing mañanitas.
Beautiful fall weather.
A really well-made cappuccino.
The emotional release that comes when you’re dancing, sweating, and singing in a sea of people at a concert.
That (o?)possum on the football field. I love her.
xo, Maeve
P.S. Thank you for the kind and positive responses to my last newsletter! It seems that many of us are thinking the same things. I appreciate knowing I’m not alone and I’m happy to be sharing my writing with you again.